


We Sure As Hell Have Nothing Now

by Fiendishfools



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Firebender!Grantaire, Love in the time of Rebellion, M/M, Rebellion, Vignette, its like canon-era type rebellion mixed with a modern setting and then also superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23777713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiendishfools/pseuds/Fiendishfools
Summary: Something's weird about Grantaire, but Enjolras can't figure out what--then again, what isn't weird nowadays? It seems as though they're fighting a battle meant to be lost. Tensions rise and the spark of revolution is set aflame.Content warning for blood, smoking and mild violence
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 33





	We Sure As Hell Have Nothing Now

“Did you get any of that?” 

“Any of what?” Grantaire replied, looking up from his paper. 

The meeting was in what Enjolras had qualified as break-off time. Once there was a plan, (posters to design or representatives to get in contact with) the meeting always broke off into little groups, people getting together to work on what they were best suited for. Enjolras took pride in flitting from group to group, offering help where he could, and taking the kind note that “Yes, we have it under control, Enj, please stop hovering.” when it was offered. He didn’t consider himself a prideful man, and so he’d move on, picking up a laptop to run blog updates as they came around, or otherwise answer correspondence they got through email. He was his own cog in the machine—a sentence that would’ve otherwise irked him, but somehow brought a sense of… Fulfillment, knowing that the end product wasn’t some mass-market scheme, but rather a little change, just out of sight on the horizon. 

Anyway—

The meeting had broken off into little groups, save for Grantaire, who’d remained at the table where Bahorel and Jehan had been moments before, his coffee still untouched, and a napkin opened all the way out in front of him. Usually he’d join the poster team, but he’d been scribbling all meeting and hadn’t stopped. It wasn’t like him to take notes. 

“The… Notes..?” Enjolras offered, cocking an eyebrow and motioning vaguely to the napkin.

“Ahhh… Yes… The notes… No.” 

“No?”

“Wasn’t paying attention, boss.” 

“Then what are you doing?” Enjolras frowned, glancing down properly this time. 

Grantaire scrambled, folding the napkin in on itself, and then crumpling it under his hand. 

“Doing what?” He parroted right back, as if Enjolras was the one who’d suddenly become a red-handed student. 

“The napkin.” 

“What napkin?” 

“Oh come on—“ Enjolras had half a mind to pry Grantaire’s hand from the table, just to make a point, but what kind of point that would be, he had yet to quite figure out, so he refrained. 

“What napkin?” Grantaire repeated. 

“The one in your hand!” 

“This hand?” 

“Y—“ 

Grantaire lifted his hand, offering it palm up to Enjolras, to show that clear as day, there was nothing there. His hands were dirty with pen and grey pencil dust like a fine soot, but there was no paper, no napkin… He reached for Grantaire’s hand, planning to search as if he could’ve hidden the damn thing under his fingernails, but Grantaire pulled away just a second before, shrugging all the while shooting Enjolras the cockiest look he’d ever seen. 

“How did you do that?” 

“Do what?” 

“The napkin.” 

“Magic.” Grantaire laughed. “Poster team’s in the corner, yeah? I’ll be making my way over, if that’s alright with you, boss.” 

——

Enjolras had all but forgotten about he napkin incident from a couple weeks prior. He’d stood there for a moment longer, peering down at the table, wondering what had just happened, before shaking the thought away and going to answer emails. 

Nothing had happened since, though maybe Grantaire was a little more distant than usual. Not uncommon, per se. Enjolras feared that everyone was feeling the same way: more and more so like they were fighting a losing battle. He couldn’t fault anyone for being glum. That on top of finals season rolling around for most members had put everyone on edge. Despite that, everyone had pretty much unanimously agreed that meetings would continue to take place. 

Enjolras would continue to put on a brave face, only ever falling back into his bad habits in privacy. 

He’d snuck out to the alley behind the Musain for a smoke the moment everyone had split into groups. The air inside was determined, but Enjolras just couldn’t focus when he felt like every single inch of his body was itchy. He’d quit smoking—he didn’t smoke anymore at all, really, but sometimes it helped just to have something to focus on. He could use the acrid smoke to centre himself, and then blow it all away, along with all his nervous energy. 

This idea wasn’t a new one, and he couldn’t even bring himself to be surprised when Grantaire was already there, occupying the space against the wall like he owned it. 

“Hey.” He threw. 

“You mind?” Enjolras asked, patting down his pants pockets with one hand as he plucked a cigarette from the lining of his jacket with the other. 

“Mi alley es su alley, and so on and so on.” 

Enjolras laughed, just under his breath, though he was busy concentrating on the process of getting himself together. He’d put on his jacket right before leaving, tucking the cigarettes on the inside and picking up his keys from the little side-table, where he also kept his lighter, which meant there was no reason for it not to be in the pocket with his keys. 

Unless he’d knocked it off the table in the process and hadn’t noticed it falling onto the mat by the door. 

Fuck. He sighed. 

“D’you have a light?” 

Grantaire nodded. It was just a rustling in the dark of the alley all the same, but instead of the toss Enjolras expected, Grantaire’s hands extended outwards, glowing bright with the orange glow of heat. It caught, and Enjolras breathed deep. 

The alley was dark again, just barely alight with smoke catching in the moonlight. 

They’d been so close, and Enjolras hadn’t even smelled butane. Just burning, and whatever Grantaire had been drinking before. 

Enjolras closed his eyes. He could still hear the chatter inside. The general meeting had been somber, but even as he’d left he felt the mood lifting a little. Brave face, Enj, c’mon, brave face.. 

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I don’t.” Enjolras looked over.

“I see…” Grantaire regarded him with a curious air—something he’d never once offered him during a meeting. The moment dragged on, and without a response, Grantaire produced a small flask from his jacket that glinted with a light not there. “And I don’t drink.” 

“Jehan once told me you used to carry super-strong koolaid in that so you could mix it into anything.” 

“Correct.” Grantaire smiled through the dark. “But not anymore. You know.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Enjolras extinguished the end of his cigarette on the side of the building, pulling away from the wall and back towards the door. “Pace yourself, we’re gonna need all the hands we can get.” 

——

Enjolras staggered to the wall, clearing the way for Grantaire to close the door behind them. He heard the lock, the dead-bolt, and the flickering of a light-switch. Confused, at first, but steadily growing more and more panicked and incessant. 

“The fucking power’s out.” 

“The transformer was on main.” Enjolras coughed. “It would’ve blown out the power for the surrounding blocks.” 

“Well that wasn’t very fucking smart.” Grantaire snapped, though his voice was growing more and more distant. 

“Yeah, well, the people who blew it up weren’t thinking it would cause a fucking riot when they did it.” Enjolras replied, sinking to the ground. 

His head ached where he’d been hit. The blow had just about knocked him to the ground to begin with—had it not been for Grantaire he probably would’ve gotten trampled in the chaos. It was unclear to him what it had been in the first place, but he remembered cold coming before the searing pain, and he could tell whatever it was had been uneven, just judging by the gash that was pissing blood all over his face.  
There was no way they would’ve been able to make it back to the Musain, but Grantaire’s place was close. A fact that it would seem had its own consequences. 

“WHY DID I LET YOU TALK ME INTO BRINGING ALL MY FLASHLIGHTS TO THE MUSAIN.” 

“Don’t you have a fucking candle?” Enjolras croaked, his voice hoarse from yelling. 

He still couldn’t quite wrap his head around how things had gotten so bad, so quickly. The explosion, yeah, and then the shattering, and then there as nothing but pain, both in the past, and the present as his head throbbed with every approaching footstep. 

“No candles.” Grantaire replied, cracking the first aid kit open as he knelt down on the ground. “Close your eyes.” 

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” 

He could feel a warmth as Grantaire moved in, a precursor to the cold cloth that dabbed at his face above his eye. It stung with every touch, though not as bad as the alcohol wipe that Enjolras heard coming in the tell-tale rip of a packet held-between teeth. He winced at the contact, instinctively pulling his face away. 

Grantaire’s hand was on his jaw in a second, hot to touch, holding him in place. 

The silence drew out, just the two of them breathing in the dark. 

Enjolras could feel his heart racing in his chest, like the clattering of feet on pavement, protesters running away from a barrage of tear gas. They had to get back to the group, let them know they were okay. Grantaire pressed the wipe to his cut once more, and Enjolras did not move. 

“Your shirt’s ruined.” Grantaire said quietly. 

“Not the end of the world.” Enjolras replied. “I can’t replace an eye.” 

“Your eye’s fine, you just bled into it.” 

“Doesn’t feel like it.” 

“Yeah, well.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Certain.” 

“I’ll get Joly to check when we get back to the Musain. I probably have a fucking concussion.” 

“Here, look at me.” 

Enjolras slowly opened his eyes. His eyelids stuck together a little, where the blood had settled in and begun to take hold. He’d need to deal with that later—just so he wouldn’t get picked up off the street for looking like hell, but for now he contented himself to watching Grantaire in the dim glow. He hadn’t realized how close they were with his eyes closed. But looking now, he could see the other man’s eyes wide with concern, and in the reflection of Grantaire’s pupils, the hand he held between them alight with brilliant white fire.   
He jerked away, and immediately the room was plunged back into darkness, Grantaire scrambling backwards and away from him. 

“Don’t freak out.” 

“Why did you—“ 

“I don’t have candles.” Grantaire offered, by way of an explanation that did absolutely nothing to answer any of the questions Enjolras held on the tip of his tongue. 

“You— That—“ 

“Yes. Yeah. I don’t usually show people, but I figured these were outstanding circumstances, please don’t freak out.” 

“I’m not freaking out.” Enjolras breathed. 

A moment of silence hung in the air. Enjolras didn’t have the energy to freak out, he was just… Had just been surprised. But Grantaire wasn’t someone to be afraid of. They were allies in all this, weren’t they? Friends? 

This thing… The political turmoil, and the rally they’d held today, it had brought the two of them closer, hadn’t it? Though, Enjolras wasn’t convinced that Grantaire wouldn’t have pulled him up even he’d been a stranger. He was a good person, after all. 

A good person, not at all frightening—just a good person, with terrible timing, and Enjolras was tightly wound to begin with. 

“You… Conjure fire.” 

“Create, yeah.” 

“Just with your hands?” 

“Not all the time.” 

“I see…” Enjolras nodded slowly. “Does it hurt?” 

“No. Well—it can. But it hasn’t in a long time.” 

“Can I see?” 

Grantaire seemed surprised, pausing for a second before nodding. He snapped, and a little white flame appeared on the tip of his finger, burning no stronger than the light of a birthday candle. 

Enjolras thought, just for a moment, of the dark streaks on Grantaire’s clothing he’d always just assumed were charcoal. In a way, he supposed he’d been right. He smiled. 

“It’s beautiful.” 

—— 

Enjolras reached down to haul the duffel bag atop the car where he stood. It rattled and shook with the crowds below, and he knew how stupid a thing it was to begin with. He was a sitting duck for any official with an itchy finger, but that was the risk he had signed up to take. The world had turned them all into martyrs. 

He caught Grantaire’s hand next, who hoisted himself up with one foot crunching the broken glass still just barely hanging onto the window frame. 

Another transformer exploded in the distance, and the two of them barely flinched. Since the first riot, the sound of devastation had slowly merged itself into the every day honking of horns, the chatter on the street. As the barricades had risen all across the city, the stakes, and the noise had all grown too. 

“I told you I could do this alone.” Grantaire hissed, ripping the bag open. Enjolras pulled it towards himself, the prepared bottles inside clinked heavily. 

“And let you take all the heat?” Enjolras shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Grantaire looked down wistfully at the two bottles in his hand before handing one off. 

“What a waste.” He muttered, snapping—and all of a sudden his hand came to light. It didn’t burn the quiet white from his apartment. It was a vibrant orange, that danced and flickered in the wind, singeing the rolled up sleeve of his shirt. 

Enjolras thought he was beautiful. 

He tipped the mouth of his bottle towards Grantaire, and the cloth lit up without even needing any contact. 

“Take all the heat—was that a pun?” 

“Yes—now!” Enjolras shouted, and Grantaire’s cloth caught flame in the split second before they lobbed their bottles high above the edge of the barricade. 

The world had turned them all into martyrs, but some burned brighter than others.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! hope you enjoyed! i've had firebender R rattling around in my head for fucking aGES and ive never known how to write it--until last night when i realized it had to be from e's perspective, and so here we are! yes the implication is that protests are in response to some superpower-related legislation, and no grantaire wouldnt be the only one with powers, he just wouldnt talk about it. 
> 
> if you wanna discuss, you can find me on tumblr @ mysteriouscynic and lemme tell you i will type my lil fingers off about this cause i have so many thoughts and probably a whole world coming out of this now oops
> 
> if you like! you can check out Long Way To Makin' It Right, my R-centric Zombie AU! 
> 
> Title taken from Things we lost in the fire by bastille, cause obviously


End file.
